Rascally Rivalry Reigns
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Set in S2. After a 7 PM-7 AM shift, eight of the ER doctors go to an all-you-can-eat pancake buffet for breakfast. TC, of course, wants to have a pancake-eating competition—loser pays for everyone. Of course they do it—their rascally rivalries reign in and out of work.


**_Soli Deo gloria_**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Night Shift. Or Grape Nuts.  
**

 **Aye, only two more days until the S4 premiere! Here's a shout-back to probably the middle of S2, when everyone got along and TC/Jordan were goals and all the original cast were still there. Cool? Cool.  
**

The regular night shift crew at San Antonio Memorial had just finished their 7-7 shift together. It'd been exhausting, as usual—there was a gas leak at an apartment complex, making everyone in the building come in for tox screens and oxygen and antibiotics. The gas had caught fire and almost razed the entire apartment building to the ground, resulting in some second-degree burn victims and a firefighter with a broken leg—a beam had fallen right down on his knee.

Hey, everyone had survived (barely), and, to boost morale, Kenny invited this person to breakfast after work, and then this person—and this person—and this person—To the point where when Gwen asked, "Hey, want to go out for breakfast?" he said, "Sure, but if I go, I got about seven people coming with me." She shook her head and kissed him and after they'd all changed into civilian clothes, they drove in a caravan down to this new restaurant Kenny had found. "It serves all day breakfast, and there's an all-you-can-eat pancake buffet!" Kenny boasted to Topher.

Topher looked at his stomach and said, "Wow, Janet will be so glad to hear that."

"Try not to eat your weight in pancakes, Pops," TC said casually.

"Oh, shut up. It's too early for your Smart-Alec remarks," Topher said dismissively.

"Really? You didn't say that earlier, like at three AM," TC pointed out.

"It's seven-twenty-seven. Way too early, old man." Topher pointed a reprimanding finger at him.

TC grinned and wrapped an arm around Jordan's shoulders as they all walked into the restaurant. "He's a funny guy, this guy," he said, jabbing a thumb at Topher.

"Really? Hadn't noticed," Jordan said in stride, hiding a smile.

When the waitress heard Drew ask for a table for nine, she blanched. They didn't have tables big enough to seat parties of nine. That was cool, though. TC recruited Paul and they quickly cobbled together a couple of tables. When they were finally gathered around it, the guys stayed seated for about two seconds to receive their coffees before TC jumped up and said, "I'm hitting that buffet."

"Hey, wait for me!" Topher said.

"Those pancakes aren't going to eat themselves," Drew said, passing Paul, who, in earnest, had to pick up the chair he knocked down.

"I'mma get me some of those grits. You want some, baby?" Kenny said, turning to Gwen.

"I'll get some in a minute. You go get your breakfast," she said, patting his shoulder.

Kenny hurried after the guys, leaving the women to actually sit down and relax for a moment before they thought of stuffing their faces.

"Wow, that was a long night." Krista breathed in deep the tea she'd ordered. Joey used to drink a lot of tea. And organic energy drinks, which was weird, since they were the total opposite of tea, but that was Joey. She didn't know where he was right now, which country he was in, if he was okay, if he was going to come back any time soon. She didn't know. That worried her, but she tried to not let it bother her as she drank her tea.

"But we got through it, and that's what counts." Jordan sat back and absentmindedly rubbed a hand across her abdomen.

Gwen smiled and peered into her own mug of coffee. "Enjoying your orange juice?"

"What I would give for coffee right now. You have no idea how much I hate you right now." Jordan nodded to her mug.

Gwen took a long slurp, making Jordan sigh and shake her head.

"Sorry, hon." Gwen stood up. "Want me to fix you a plate, or do you want to join me?"

"I'll join you. Krista, coming?"

Krista shook her head, saying politely, "Thanks. I'm good, Jordan."

Jordan and Gwen didn't question it when they came back to their table before the guys, but they were seriously full of questions when the six guys arrived with the heaviest, most-carb-filled breakfast plates they'd ever seen in their lives.

"Okay, I gotta ask: why do all of you have stacks of pancakes at least ten high?" Jordan asked warily, wondering if she even wanted to know.

"Twelve, actually," Paul had to point out.

TC settled into his seat with a sigh and said, looking across the table at Jordan with amusement in his eyes, "Pancake-eating contest."

"What? _Really?_ " Jordan looked at Topher for an explanation. Like, how could he allow this to happen?

Topher jerked his head at TC at his left side. "His idea," he said, like dropping the blame on TC somehow made him innocent.

"Competitive in and out of the office," TC grinned.

"Twelve pancakes, three minutes. Whoever finishes first pays for everyone's breakfast," Ragossa said firmly, like he enjoyed laying down the rules.

"Is this a guys-only thing or do we all have to do it?" Krista wanted to know.

"You can do it if you want to, but there's no mandatory participation," Drew explained.

"So we get breakfast and a show? I'm down for this." Gwen then said to Kenny, "What about your grits?"

"And Grape Nuts. He grabbed Grape Nuts, too," Paul pointed out.

"Hey, I'll eat them if I have room in the end. I'm not gonna shoot myself in the foot filling up the tank before the race starts," Kenny said quickly, like he had this totally great foolproof plan for this calorie-laden competition.

"Just looking at it all is making me sick," Jordan said, pulling a nauseated face and looking away from their loaded table.

"I thought you got past the morning sickness," Gwen said, concerned.

"Yeah, but I think this is bringing it back," Jordan groaned.

"Hey, at least you don't have to eat it," TC reassured her.

"'Have to?' What, do you have to? Is it sympathy weight? If so, TC's the only one justified in doing this," Gwen said, amused.

"Jordan's also the only one who's qualified to eat for two," Krista teased, leaning forward to squeeze Drew's arm.

"Okay, okay, ladies, we know it's a bad idea, but it's also a fun idea, and after the night we all just had, we need some light-hearted fun, wouldn't ya say?" Kenny said, appealing to the ladies' sympathies. They tittered and weighed and finally agreed that it couldn't hurt them all—too much.

Krista's eyes darted around and Drew said, "What are you looking for?"

"The men's room, so I know where to point you guys in about three minutes. I'd rather not tip the waitress an extra twenty bucks 'cause she had to clean vomit off the tables."

Drew rolled his eyes and Krista laughed and Kenny appealed to Krista. "Madam, would you be the referee?" It was pretty obvious that Jordan and Gwen couldn't be referee. Gwen had a partiality for Kenny, and Jordan poked around her own breakfast like she could barely eat _that_. Still, the baby demanded that she eat scrambled eggs mixed with onions and cantaloupe—her weirdest—and weirdly, only—craving thus far.

"I take the position with the utmost gravity and gratitude," Krista said seriously, making Drew laugh as she stood up and tapped her knife against her teacup. "Attention: let's get it together, men. This is a brutal exercise. Some of you may not come out alive."

"That's an encouraging thought," Jordan whispered to Gwen off-hand.

Krista held up her phone, which read 00:03:00. "When I press this button, you will have three minutes to eat the pancakes as fast as you can. The competition stops when the timer does, or when everyone finishes. Whichever comes first. Ready?"

Nods came from across the board. TC and Drew looked like they were about to take down an army obstacle course. Paul and Ragossa looked blissfully confident, because they had no idea what they were about to get into. Topher looked like he was about to do something he was going to regret, but was choosing to jump off the bridge with his friends anyway; Kenny looked like a race car ready to go from zero to sixty at the sound of "Go!"

And they were off.

"Ugh, I can't watch," Jordan said, shading her eyes away.

"I can't stop watching. Come on, baby, faster, faster, you got this!" Gwen clapped her hands, attracting some onlookers to watch the spectacle.

Straight off, Paul was in over his head. He cut each bite neatly, and waited until he had swallowed before he tucked in another bite. Sure, he ate big bites, and was pretty fast, but he dragged from the beginning.

Topher shook his head, his eyes widening and his hands trembling. Damn, pancakes were thick! His mouth was so dry—syrup didn't help; actually made them worse. Dry was somehow better than cloyingly sweet. At least dry was edible.

Kenny was used to eating hard foods—granola, protein bars, jerky, mixed nuts. He got this!

TC hurdled behind him. He didn't care what he looked like—he quickly became a desperate, messy madman as he grabbed his coffee cup and made the pancake wetter, easier to slide down. It was a good strategy, but at a price—the coffee helped fill his stomach.

Ragossa made a hearty attempt, but he fell behind in the first minute, and could never catch up at the rate he was going. He was doomed to trail at the back of the pack.

Drew was a regular race-horse. He plowed through the stack; he barely looked up. He just . . . conquered.

Krista didn't know where to look, it was all happening all so fast, all at once. She gave quick half-second glances at her phone so she could call out the time. She paced behind Gwen and Jordan, watching across the table the sheer madness happening opposite them.

"Is really considered a sport?" Jordan groaned.

"We got just under one minute"—Krista was a regular sports commentator—"Drew's got the lead—Kenny's giving him a run for his money—TC's at three pancakes left—well, around three, anyway—Paul, baby, you gotta move! Drew's got two bites left—Drew's got one—Kenny's got one pancake left, TC's got two—" Drew shoved the last bit in his mouth and raised his hands up.

"Drew's got an empty plate!" Drew stuck his tongue out at her. "And his mouth is empty! He won! Drew won! I'll hug you in just a second, I gotta announce second—thirty-seven seconds—KENNY WINS SECOND!"

At this Gwen stood up and whooped. "That's my man!"

Cue more passing stares and glares. Jordan covered her face and turned sideways in her chair.

"TC pulls a respectable third—"

"Respectable?" Jordan scoffed. She passed a look at her boyfriend, whose face looked like someone had spilled an entire bottle of syrup on it. "Here." She handed him a napkin, which he took politely, looking both grateful and queasy.

"Countdown, here we go," Krista announced, one arm around Drew, "ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five"—Topher pounded the table and put his hands up, done—"four, three, two, one! Time!"

Those still eating stopped. Ragossa sat back and groaned. Paul slapped his hand against his mouth and knocked over his chair again as he ran as fast as he could towards the men's room.

"I hope he makes it in time," Topher said, groaning. He beat his chest to release a belch.

Drew sat back, like he was hardly full. "Some guys can't hold their pancakes," he said philosophically, sipping coffee.

"That's not a mess I'd want to clean up," TC said. He leaned back and looked at Jordan studying them all attentively, like surveying the carnage ravaged on a battlefield. "What are you looking at us like that for?"

"I'm searching for signs of heart attacks," she said calmly.

"Heart attacks? The only heart problems we're in danger of having is heartburn. Which I have. Ugh. I need antacid." Topher splayed his hand on his chest and looked at the full bottle Jordan offered him from her purse. "Ugh, thanks," he said, taking it.

Krista, meanwhile, hung around Drew's shoulders. "Totally proud of you, by the way."

"Ahh, that was easy. That was nothing."

"I wouldn't call it nothing. Michael—" Jordan leaned forward. He was pale and silent and still. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." He gulped and shook his head. "As long as I don't move, I won't throw up."

"Oh. Okay."

Everyone simultaneously inched away.

Paul returned. TC slapped him on the back. "Made it in time?"

"Barely. Well, almost. I went into the women's room. It was closer."

"I thought I heard some shrieking," Krista said, as everyone laughed. Once Paul's cheeks stopped burning, she raised Drew's hand. "I pronounce Drew Alister as the first place winner of this obscene pancake-eating contest."

"One of my most crowning accomplishments," Drew said, as scattered, reluctant, but good-natured clapping sounded from around the table.

"Kenny Fournette is our second-place winner"—Krista waved a hand to Kenny, whose girlfriend rubbed his shoulders and looked extremely proud of him—"TC Callahan is third"—"Where's my shoulder rub?" TC asked Jordan. "Come here and I'll give you one—after you give me a foot-rub," Jordan bargained—"Topher Zia is fourth, and then Ragossa places fifth, barely. He has three pancakes left, while Paul has four and a bit left." Krista gave Paul a sympathetic smile as everyone clapped. "Sorry, Paul."

"Nah, it's cool. Ohh, I'm glad I didn't win. I'm glad I don't have twelve pancakes in me right now." He groaned and slouched further down in his seat.

TC turned to Jordan, who could now look at everyone without her stomach flipping ver, and said, "I think I'm going to nap all afternoon."

"I think that's a great idea," Jordan said, nodding. It was certainly better than the idea of a food competition.

The meal finished out with the six guys slouching and groaning and existing as general couch-potatoes, Krista texting Joey the deets, and Gwen and Jordan carefully picking at their breakfasts.

"While this was fun, next time we go out for breakfast, let's not invite our friends. Or make eating into a competition, okay?" Gwen said to Kenny, as they all stumbled out an hour later.

Kenny couldn't speak. He just kissed her cheek and nodded. Even if he wanted to, his body wasn't up for another extreme pancake-eating contest _any_ time soon.

 **Thanks for reading! Review?**


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